I'm 2 days out from Thanksgiving and I can't front, I have so much to be thankful for. Not just the house, but how much my life and relationships have flourished. I linked back up with my teenage bestie, and amazingly, we both completed our undergrad degrees and even got our master's degrees in social work, so we often talk shop and deeply understand one another. My child is growing so much mentally and emotionally, and I could not be more proud of him. I've gotten a little out of shape (because the second half of the year was kind of a doozy), but I just bought new running shoes and started jogging again. I just got back from a quick trip up north, where I got to spend time with my family and my bestie, Daisy. Overall, I definitely cannot complain.
Coincidentally, I had a moment recently that really let me know how far I'd come. I'd bragged a few years ago about how amazing the skin on my face is, with very minimal washing. Skin was bright, radiant even. And then one day, it popped up and got comfortable and I've had to make peace with this lil bastard since! This stupid psoriasis saw me thinking too heavily of myself and decided to disrupt alla dat! Seriously, it could have landed on my foot, like my son. Or my neck, arms or back. NOPE! This psoriasis felt me getting to be too comfortable with my looks and decided to do something about it smh. Been roughly 2 years now, so nothing I can do but treat it as much as I can and go about my day. The fact is that if someone like Kim Kardashian has psoriasis and can't do much about it, with all of the money she has, ain't a damned thing I can do but accept it.
But then recently, something else happened. My beloved nose ring, which I'd had for years, started to puff up. Well, not the ring, obviously, but the skin around it, on my nose. Now, I wasn't a stranger to this. A few years ago, when I still had my stud, my skin would occasionally puff up, and a dab of Neosporin a few times a day, managed to take care of that. However, for some reason, it wasn't helping much this time. The fact that I tend to pick at the skin on my face didn't help much either. I'd tried many things, and the puffiness would go down, but then puff right back up. The pierced skin seemed to be getting bigger and puffier, even pussy. I'd tried tea tree oil and witch hazel, on top of many other things, but the bump just wouldn't leave.
I read about how to heal bumps that weren't going away, and I saw a recommendation to try some antibiotics, so I decided to go visit a doc and get some meds. The doctor came to me and quickly announced that antibiotics would not work, simply because I had a keloid. I froze. "I'm sorry, a what now?!" I'll admit that I let my previous bias get to me. I envisioned a massive, intrusive blob on my face, that would be large and hideous for eternity. How the eff could I, of all people, get a keloid?! I'd had my piercing for years, with no issue! How is this possible?!
I looked online at how to heal piercing keloids. It said the one thing I'd never really considered- removal of the piercing. I'd gotten my hoop in Alaska, in March earlier this year, replacing the stud that called my nose home for years. I realized that I didn't have much choice. There was no promise that the keloid would go away either way, but at the moment, it needed to go and I had to do whatever I could. I sat in my car at a nearby QuikTrip and googled how to take it out. With some work, I finally got it out. But I still had this large, ugly ass bump on my nose.
And while battling my new enemy, called Keloid, I had another attack on my face. A goddamn fever blister popped up on my lip at the same damned time. What pissed me off the most about the fever blister was that I didn't even get these damned things being nasty. Nope. I had a previous client who showed up at group one day with one. This particular client quickly became famous for mindlessly eating and drinking things she was not supposed to. One day, on the way into work, I'd stopped by Starbucks and mindlessly left my cup unattended for a few minutes. I came back, saw my cup, and moved it to my office. And a few days later, it appeared.
I was pissed. I was outraged! All the wild shit I did in my 20s and 30s, I avoided something like this! And all it took was a wandering client and unattended coffee to make this happen. The first, last, and only time it happened before recently was about 6 years ago. And now, here I am with effing psoriasis, a keloid, and a damned fever blister at the same time. I hated it. It took so long to embrace how I look, and all of a sudden, all this shit was attacking my face all at once!
I'd wondered if I was having issues with my immune system. It just seemed so odd. I'd looked online about weakened immune systems, and everything I read kept starting off with stress as a cause. I couldn't relate. I wasn't stressed at all! I finally broke down and called a local nurse line. I explained my symptoms and she said something similar- "are you stressed?" I told her of course not. I just hung up, annoyed.
Honestly tho, I had to really think about the last month. Rather than just hiring a mover or renting a van, I opted to move in short trips, because it worked well before. Not this time. I should have taken time off work, but I did not. I continued to work both jobs, while making several trips, to move both delicates and large furniture. And on top of that, my mom was coming to my house to see it, so I was taking time between calls to finish painting my bathroom. I hated that I had so much to do, with so little time to do it. And I my hair may not have been falling out, but I had to accept that perhaps I really was a bit more stressed out than I'd given myself credit for. Perhaps it's that I'm normally so chill, that this slight uptick in activity really was messing with me?
I stepped back into my freshly painted bathroom, looked at myself in that mirror, with psoriasis, fever blister, and a keloid, and I looked at the Frankenstein staring back, and said to her "you still that bish!" And you know what?! I meant it!! I didn't see a monster in the mirror, I saw an amazing, intelligent, accomplished woman, who had some spots on her face. I marveled at realizing that a few years ago, I would have imploded at this. Not this time, nope.
I said to myself that the world is gonna get whatever version of the me that I have to give it and ain't a damned thing they can do about it. This is my favorite part of being good and grown. I don't let the superficial stuff define me. I got my peace. I'm surrounded by amazing people, I have plans for the future and I love myself like never before.
The keloid had since dramatically declined and the fever blister has healed, the psoriasis is definitely hanging on tho. And I look back at that lesson that The Universe brought to me, to show me how far I've come. And I'll take it all!!
I've kinda scaled back my social media presence lately. The older I get, the more I value my peace, and too much online energy really messes up my groove. While once a person who posted on Facebook daily, I now opt to only check once or twice a week. I follow several groups that keep me in the loop. I also intentionally don't watch the news. Anything I need to know, someone will inform me. It works so far, so why fix it, ya know?
Anyway, last night, I decided on a quick check in. I landed on a post from a woman who described how she'd planned a birthday cruise for herself, and footed the bill, including the bill for her boyfriend to join her. She went on to talk about how her boyfriend was a complete wet blanket the whole time. She then said that next time, she'd simply leave the dude home.
I looked at the comments, and at over 1.1k of them, they all said the same thing. He doesn't like you, toss him back!
I was nearly nauseous reading those statements. He doesn't like you. It hit home. I felt the light bulb go off. I hated how familiar it all was. He didn't like her. Just like so many men didn't really like ME. I went back through my recent memory and I finally got what I'd buried for so long. Those guys didn't even like me. Damn. So many men that I'd shared my time and my body with didn't even like me. What have I been doing this whole time?!
I think what kept me shielded from this for so long is that I'm Malika. Everybody likes me. I'm funny. I'm kind. I'm thoughtful. I'm affectionate. I'm loving. What's not to like, right? I've realized in the past that some of the men I dated ultimately disliked me because they hated themselves and they felt threatened and intimidated by my ability to love myself, while they struggled to do the same. They were initially drawn to my outgoing personality, but they grew to resent it, because they struggled to be liked, confident, and social. I've seen it an identified the behavior in many men and women, and because of it, I've gotten to be far more selective about who I allow in my personal space. But the comments from those women made me really deep dive and see how many men truly didn't like me, I was just convenient. Whether it was sex, time, attention, emotional support, or any other resource, and because I'm a giver, I was an endless supply.
I needed badly to process this new info. I then called a good friend, to get her thoughts. She admitted that yes, most of the men she dated didn't really like her either. Somehow, it felt comforting to hear another woman admit that most of the men she'd dated were equally as guilty. I still struggle to make sense of it. I can't fathom giving my body to someone I can't stand. Yet, so many men seem to be comfortable with the practice. Not that anyone asked me, but that's disgusting on every level.
I guess I needed this revelation. Because moving forward, I intend to be a hell of a lot more selective about who I entertain and I plan to watch their behavior like a hawk. Because I like and love myself. And I refuse to let anyone else's inability to do the same, somehow become my burden to bear.
And as I received this realization, I've also seen the political changes since the election. And I've seen some pictures floating around that perfectly sum up my feelings about everything going on.
And now that I'm seeing that there are men who willingly hold space in my life, while simultaneously not caring for my well-being, I shall now fall back. This ain't my fight anymore. For those in my life who have shown grace, or will show up and show love later, I'll always fight to protect them, regardless of race or gender. But the others? Nah. Let it burn.
I'd reached my breaking point. It was a long-distance thing, and because we'd had so much in common, I continued to coach him on what I needed and wanted. And nearly every time, he delivered. I was smitten and I appreciated his effort. But what else did I need that I never got? His physical presence. Sure, we could sit on the phone for hours and discuss our favorite Stevie Wonder records and dissect the greatness of Marvin Gaye. We talked about house music and coincidentally, we knew many mutual Atlanta heavy hitters, and whenever I'd tell him I ran into such-and-such, he knew them well. We were both book lovers, who happened to share a love of biographies.
In many ways, he was perfect. And because of our commonalities, I let his physical absence slide. But it started to get old and I told him that. Initially, it was due to his job. He had quite possibly the worst working schedule an individual can have. But still, I worked around it. I made the journey to see him early on. Only one time though. I needed to know that we meshed, and we did. Well, sorta. There were some things that were left to be desired, and because I liked him and saw potential, I told him. I believed in him enough to give him the chance to see it through.
And eventually, the job was no longer an issue. I was excited. I'd already convinced him that the job was dead weight and he needed to do something else, so he was in the process of interviewing anyway. He had a side project to work, which he did. We texted throughout the day, and that evening, he updated me about the gig he'd just completed. He assured me that if he was paid in cash, he'd come down the following day.
I checked in the following day, wanting to know how to plan out my weekend. That's when he casually told me that he needed to drop something off to a friend way later in the day and he'd hit the road then. The issue was that it would take several hours to get here by car, so rather than drop the shit off early, he'd leave late. I already knew what that meant. I didn't feel like hearing "it's kinda late to get on the road, so I'm coming another time" because that's exactly what was going to happen. I casually texted back "No worries." And I meant it. I wasn't mad. I was fucking done.
For several months I'd accepted excuse after excuse of why he couldn't appear. The job was no longer a hindrance, he'd just been paid well for a gig, and could easily drive to see me. But once again, there was some bullshit going on. I festered. I chatted with a girlfriend of mine and the more I talked to her, the more I knew it was time. I texted him a nice little message, basically saying "I enjoy your friendship, let's keep it that way."
I meant it too. I really do enjoy and appreciate his friendship, but the space he was attempting to occupy was not being met with the attention I'd require. It's one thing to be a guy that I'm fucking, it's completely something else to try to be my man. I was done with feeling like everything in his life took priority, and it finally hit that I'd never be number one, even in the get-to-know-you stage. I'm glad we never did the do, even though we'd talked about it. How could we? I never saw him.
He texted me back that he had plans to come to town the following weekend. I informed him that I already had plans, so whatever. Truthfully, his response agitated me even more. He just casually blew me off, in spite of me warning earlier him that he was on his last leg, and he just assumed that the following weekend would be better? Nah, playboy. Think again.
But then he texted me with those words. "Please don't give up on me." In an ideal world, that would hit different. But it didn't. It struck an all too familiar chord. I had another man once hit me with the "please don't give up on me." And what I took from being asked not to give up on him was me seeing that he knew that he was fucking up, but he went full steam ahead with it anyway, with the expectation that when he was ready, he'd show up and show out.
I told him quite honestly then that I need to be with someone in closer proximity, and so does he. He didn't respond. I've wanted to call him, but I decided not to. I will at some point. Just not now. I continue to think that he's a great person. Just not great for me. I'm glad that I was wise enough to let Hot Girl Summer Malika do her thing, while testing out the waters with dude. No need to shut off my steady supply of attention and back scratchers for a maybe, ya dig?
When I envision myself with a significant other, I see someone who cannot wait to be in the same room with me. Someone who would move heaven and earth to see my smile in person. A man whose only wish in life is to see me and feel my lips on his one more time. And I've had that from men before. Granted, they all had some funky shit going on too (which is why I left them alone, obviously). But this ain't it, and I think it's time we stop pretending that it is.
I feel myself entering a season of contemplation. I think I'm going to scale back on dating for a while. I need to get my funds and my mind in order. I'm so glad it's fall. Time to get back to writing and being goal oriented. I bought my house (hallelujah!), but now the goal is to pay down some bills so I can work on some household improvements I want to make and paying down the actual home. I don't want or need the distraction of false promises, I've had more than enough of those. Time to focus and plan.
***
Tiombe Lockhart does an amazing version of the song "California Dreaming." I loved it way before I'd ever made a decision to move there. I didn't even know that one of my faves, Robert Glasper, was on it. No wonder I've had this song in rotation for over 20 years now. Anyway lately, the lyrics have been hitting pretty heavy.
"All the leaves are brown And the sky is gray I woke up in the world And I was still here I wouldn't have this day If I was in L.A"
And honestly, on some of these dreary days, I think how much I'd love to just hop a plane and go sit on a beach in California. Not like it's fun in the sun weather there now. But it ain't this.
When I was still dealing with Fred, I'd use any excuse to take a long weekend and go see him. But the last time I saw him was- well, just that. No need to rehash it here. But it was time. It was beyond time. He's done and said some fucked up things over the years, however this one just pulled out the last shred of interest I had in him. I didn't cry. I was cried out by then. I didn't even spend days or weeks mulling over it. Yeah, I vented to some friends, friends who knew for years that I could do much better, but that was pretty much it.
Fred was also pretty annoyed that I told a mutual friend of his that he and I had been doing the nasty. I think he felt more annoyed that I'd managed to destroy the pristine image he'd managed to build for himself. The more I learned about L.A., the more I understood his draw to it. Millions of people go there regularly, to create their new identity. And I showed up like a hurricane and swept away his precious reputation. I'm not apologetic either. Don't do bullshit to me and then expect me to help you maintain your good boy reputation. I don't have shit to hide. No one can hold a damned thing over my head, and I live that way on purpose.
He still comes to mind, on occasion. It sucks that all of my L.A. people pretty much left. They were priced out and sick of the crime. It sucks, because normally, I'd have Fred pick me up from the airport, and then I'd go brunch or shop with homegirls and pick someone to crash with for a day or two, before returning to my mundane life in Atlanta. But that life and those resources are gone. My high school bestie is here, and she happens to be from L.A. We've discussed flying out for a weekend, and I'm sure we will eventually but like me, she's lining up some ducks and paying down bills first
But even though he's no longer my go-to L.A. guy, I still look back fondly on him. At least on the old version of him that I continued to believe in. I knew that guy, and I loved that guy. And I still do. I still love and cling to the person I knew who made me feel special, who loved me and traveled with me and confided in me and supported me, and stayed on the phone for hours, and partied with me. I really do love that version of him. But this guy? This guy right here? I can't help but to go all Mariah Carey. "I don't know him."
I have no idea where my long-term beach cutie went. Perhaps it was a mirage. Actually, I know it was. And in some strange way, I'm grateful for the act he put up. I loved that act, and I believe in my heart of hearts that the same act loved me too. I think I'm grieving that period and that act. And it's okay to grieve it, but it's time to embrace reality, not who people pretend to be, but being surrounded by real people. People who are honest and genuine, and loving.
I continue to be amazed at the beauty of the people around me. They are loving, intelligent, kind, supportive, all of that. And the more I work with lonely people, who are at their lowest, the more grateful I am to have individuals who are flawed, but sincere. Individuals who possess loyalty, integrity, and a heart as big as all outdoors.
So I may be entering another season where I sit back and pour into myself. It also helps that I just had a small operation that put me out of commission for a while, not that I was planning anything anyway. No centering men. Nah. Just writing, focusing on my child, my money, my goals and my future. My new way of living is to let the trash take itself out. Seems to be easier that way, ya know?
Like many people my age, I vividly remember the movie Love Jones. Well, I don't remember the movie in particular, funny enough, I'm not really even a fan of spoken word poetry. But what I remember about the movie was how the players interacted with one another. They were a group of young, beautiful, creative, successful Black people. And while I was only a teenager when I saw that movie with my high school classmate, I remember vividly looking at that screen and longing for the day that would be me.
On the same weekend that I hopped out for the Stevie Wonder concert, a friend suggested that we go to the Kaytranada show. Coincidentally, our (other) classmate, who she's good friends with, was able to score us free tickets. I wasn't to familiar with the music, in spite of having some of it in my collection, but I can't front, I was blown away. Anyway, afterwards, I got to my HOUSE (teehee) and I decided that I wasn't quite ready to go home. It was only midnight, and the night was still young, so I made a beeline to The Venue (I'm not telling the world where my spots are, so they can't identify the players, plus I don't want randos showing up at my hangout spots).
Anyway, I knew that Dex would be performing, and I slid in at the door, and grabbed a seat as he warmed up. I also called another friend of mine, who'd been meaning to get in some live music, and encouraged her to join me. As Dex and the band began performing, I took it all in. Here I was, in this little hole-in-the wall of a venue, listening to some of Atlanta's most talented performers. I knew the person leading the band and I even happened to know the DJ, my former boss.
It was in that moment that I realized that many people don't have that life and they'd love to have it. There I was, in a venue, surrounded by creatives, listening to music. And that wasn't some one-off. This really can be like some random ass Tuesday for me. That shit is my life! I never have to complain about being bored and friendless, I literally manifested the life I wanted and I continue to live it and be grateful for it.
***
This morning, at 6:43, as I slumbered gracefully, I got a call. I saw the name and I pondered if I should answer it. I hadn't talked to him in a while. No bad blood or anything, but we'd just been in different spaces, and he doesn't even live in my city anymore. Rather than send it to voicemail, I opted to answer, in case it was an emergency. "I want to see you," he said. It was The Lobbyist.
He told me that he is town for the day and wanted to hang. Naturally, today is the day that I work both jobs, which is probably a blessing in disguise. It would be nice to see him. I'm sick of hearing about political shit though. I wonder why he's in town. "I'm not hooking up with you," I shoot back. "That's too bad," he replied.
The Lobbyist wanted me some years ago, but as an insecure grad student, I had no clue what he'd seen in me. But now as a secure, grown ass woman, I don't blame him lol. But the fact is that I'm not in a space to entertain casual hookups, even with the guy who has spent more time in the White House than fucking 45 himself. I can't front though, I'm always enthralled when he starts sharing his political stories. I've always been a sucker for a man with power, and the Lobbyist definitely falls under that umbrella.
Nevertheless, that window has closed and we've both moved into other spaces, not to mention, other cities. Still, I agreed to move some things around, so that I can briefly see him between jobs.
Once again, I'm living out my super fabulous life with a wonderful cast of zany and introspective characters, who manage to bring something magical to the plotline. I don't know exactly when this became my life, but I'm grateful. Lord help me be good when I see this man today, and please God, don't let him be wearing a cologne that I love.
I can't believe it's been 2 months since I posted here. A lot has happened in my life, but I've learned over the years to play my blessings close to the chest, because there are people bored and evil enough to attempt to destroy (or at least interrupt) the good things in my life. So onward, march!
To start with, the last few months have been a beautiful chaotic mess. It was kinda cool that to celebrate my birthday in June, I got to spend the night in Yosemite, under the stars. It was a bit of a bucket list item for me. My solo travels always give me extra insight and allow me to figure out my wants and needs, in a world where I'm constantly pulled in different directions. Around that time, it occurred to me that it was time to let go of the locs.
I told myself that I'd start taking down my locs a few months before the big 4-5 birthday, but I just couldn't help it. I work from home and I'm often fidgety anyway. So I started. I mean, it wasn't part of the plan, but it just felt right. Sometimes I'd inform people of my intentions to get rid of the locs, and if they were nothing else, they'd be incredulous. What do you mean, you're taking out your locs?! They're gorgeous! They were. They were cute, they were fun, they got me loads of attention. But they no longer made me happy. I'm completely comfortable moving into another phase in life.
Not sure what happened in the air, but starting this summer, I really just kinda slunk away. There was no particular reasoning for it. I just didn't feel connected. I just needed to be quiet. Perhaps it was the death of my uncle, my mother's brother. That loss left her as one of the last 2 remaining relatives on her side of the family, outside of her kids. I was noticeably away from social media. People were checking in to see if I was okay. And I was. I just needed to... away?
But as the summer wore on, even though I'd shied away from most socialization on a grander scale, I just seemed to condense my energy instead. When I got to my new apartment last year, literally knew that I hated it. It was just so small. Plus it only had literally just 3 small windows in the whole place. And the closet space was non-existent. I woke up 2-3 weeks after my move-in date and said to myself "I fucking hate this place. It's time to buy a condo."
I supposed I lucked out, because my "friend" was a real estate agent, and another "friend" is a mortgage broker. I'm not going to bore anyone with the shady ass details, but I had to scrap that team. I'd decided that I could just make peace with where I was in the meantime. And then one day, I met a woman, while working at the discount retailer. She was buying work clothes, and I bantered for a while and she explained that she was buying work clothes for her new job as a real estate agent. I told her how I'd recently been in the market for a house and how it fell apart. Her ears perked up. "What? Did you have a letter from your mortgage person?" I explained that yes, I did. I have 2 jobs and this one was more so just to get me out of the house. She asked for my phone number and promised to contact me when she finished her real estate exam. I didn't really care by then. I'd made peace with my tiny ass apartment, and working in the discount retailer at least gave me access to all kinds of lil gadgets and organizers.
She contacted me roughly a month later, via text. I saw it and wanted to respond, but I honestly just think I forgot. Anyway, a few weeks later, she followed up and I apologized and told her that while I was extremely disenchanted after my last encounter at house shopping, I'd be willing to check things out with her. And to her credit, I can admit that I didn't always make things easier, she stuck with it and saw the vision. She helped me to make concessions where I needed to. She also helped me to find a mortgage lender who helped things along. I also really respect her emotional intelligence, because she always knew when and how to push me along, and even leaned into my pushing back on her.
Late one evening in April or so, I looked online and found the perfect house. I loved loved the location, it was in my price range and a bus stop was literally in the front yard, so my son could get around easily. It was close to a few businesses as well. I gotta admit tho, the area was a lil, well... sketch. I had my reservations, but still, I knew this house was MINE. The road block that I did not expect was student loans. My mortgage guy should have run my paperwork earlier, and he would have seen that. But he didn't. I did so much to try to make it happen. I mean I tried. But I ended up not getting the house.
I was heartbroken. I was angry. So pissed at the finance guy, because he swore to me that he could make it happen. But clearly he never even ran the numbers until the last minute. I'd continued to wonder what happened to the house, but I refused to even look, because I knew that if I looked online and saw someone living in my house, I'd likely catch charges. I happened to check in with my real estate agent, who informed me that not only was the house still on the market, it was also discounted by $10k. I immediately acted to get all of the student loan stuff resolved.
Even though I was practically willing to sign on the dotted line immediately, they wanted me to walk through the property again first. My real estate agent and I walked through the house, inspecting it, but then we settled on a small hole in what would have been my son's room. A lil bit of digging around, and we discovered that it was a bullet. A bullet had punctured the room that would have been my son's bedroom. Had I gotten that house. My house. Had I purchased the house that I leaned so hard into, I would have had to live with a bullet coming through the walls of my son's room.
I'll be honest and admit that I took about a week or so to process that. I typically adhere to an "everything happens for a reason" way of living, and I stepped away from that idea, only to discover that it applied harder than it ever had before. It's true, God was protecting me. Or more importantly, She was protecting my son.
Long story short, we found a house that worked. It fit my budget. It is also not located near one of Atlanta's most dangerous apartment complexes. Bus stop isn't right in front, but it's only about a 5 minute walk. So yeah. We did it. I'm a homeowner. I'm grateful. I keep getting high-fived and congratulated for this feat. I know it's big. It's major. I'm officially a homeowner. I'm now a Black woman, homeowner, graduate degree holder, and I'm a mother.
This season is just so strange to me. I'm moving quieter. I'm still a goofball, but I'm far more intentional. Life is just lifing, I guess. People are dying. Some are getting sick. I've scaled back things with FAMM, after learning that things with him are (big surprise) not what I need them to be. Well, actually, I ended it. I knew that things with him were a crapshoot, after seeing how he moved early on. But I was wistful and hopeful. I let my physical attraction to him, coupled with our childhood together, blind me to the roaring red flags he waved.
Going into cuffing season I was surprised when my musician friend, Dex, turned up and continued to stay around. We'd occasionally call one another previously, and I even got his help bringing my armoire into my new crib. Knowing my history with Dex and knowing how he is, I know better than to attempt to get to close to him. I credit him with always knowing how to maintain boundaries. But the good and the bad is that sexually, he and I are absolutely electric. When we first met some years ago, we were far more sexual (and still are lol), but this time around, as we've aged a bit, I love that we are growing more as friends. Being a well-traveled musician, Dex knows many people in the industry, and confessed to me that he personally knows a whopping 40 people who have died this year. One of whom, is Kasey Benjamin, a musician for Robert Glasper. I didn't know much about Kasey, but I remember him playing for RG at the Atlanta Jazz Fest and he really stood out to me. His energy was enthralling. It was honestly the best damned concert of my life, which is wild, considering that Robert Glasper was drunk as shit. Still Dex knew him. And we bonded over how strange it is to get older and all of the people you know and love start dying off.
Speaking of musicians, I saw Stevie Wonder in concert last night. I'm so glad I made it. Stevie is undeniably one of my favorites of all time and it was on my bucket list to see him. I understand that he did his more popular songs for his arena show, but my favorite albums from him are Talking Book and Fullfillingness First Finale and I wish he'd done some of the less popular songs. Because, as a music lover, his less popular music is his best.
I didn't expect it to, but concert helped me deep dive into my old favorites from Stevie. I'd completely forgotten how much I loved Innervisions too. It made me think about how my old flame, Him, ultimately helped me to move past my abusive fuccboi of a baby daddy. I remember being in my ex's car, and giving Him a ride home. Stevie's "All In Love is Fair" came on, and he seemed to ponder the lyrics. He and I were walking a bit of a tightrope, being that I was living with El Cluster Fucko, and he didn't want to cross that line. Truthfully, up until that point, I thought to myself that if I didn't stay with my son's father, I'd just forever be a lonely hermit. Him changed that. He made me feel loved and special, the way fuccboi never could. He made me feel beautiful and desirable. And even though he and I never ultimately danced that dance, he helped me to realize that even if my baby daddy couldn't see the gem that I am, another man definitely could. And he was right.
Anyway, I'm glad that I got to see Stevie.
I think a lot about the what ifs and if onlys. And I continue to be thankful that my life worked out the way that it did. I have a job that I'm finally really good at. My boss loves me, to the point where she flew down from Kansas to join some coworkers for a gathering I planned and we're looking at doing more. I kept getting fired and quitting from different jobs, and I finally landed where I felt supported and I feel like my talents are actually utilized. Money could be way better, but hey, I'm apparently doing pretty well, I guess. Had I stayed with either of my abusers, I'd be lonely, uneducated, and a mess. Instead, well, shit, bitch is doing good!
Anyway, I am so glad to have the new home, because I'll be using the extra bedroom as my office/exercise room. I don't have to run away to get some writing done, I'll finally have another office, specifically designed to inspire and support writing. And it's all mine.
I'm unsure of why a higher power decided that this is my time. I'm shedding a lot. I'm shedding my insecurity. I'm shedding the self-doubt. I'm shedding the idea that I need a man to feel supported and capable. I'm shedding wasteful behavior. The years of tears and disappointment have led me to this space of feeling capable and deserving of good things.
Another thing that I can't help but to think about is how moving to California (very briefly) and ultimately having to move back, set my trajectory in a way that helped me so much more. Had I stayed in Cali, I never could have afforded a house. I moved back, into extreme discomfort, and ultimately arose as victorious over whatever bullshit people tried to throw on me. It's almost like the worse people tried to make it, the better it made my life.
So here I am, just awe-struck. I'm taking my locs down, while I slowly move into my new home. I'm budgeting. I'm working on my career. I'm loving the friendships with new people I'm encountering. I moved from one space, into another. The ultimate shedding. And I am grateful.
So I'd mentioned FAMM (Fine Ass Maintenance Man) and how he was a childhood classmate (unbeknownst to me at the time) and how we'd started talking. As much as I'd liked him, I knew that I had to maintain a distance. I saw somethings in him that let me know that having high expectations wouldn't be good for me or us. So as much as I liked him, I always knew to keep it light. I've owned the mistakes that I've made by my expecting too much from men in the past, so I finally learned how to keep my expectations low, while having a good time.
I went from practically planning a wedding in my head with the then-unnamed maintenance man, to getting to know him and realizing that while he's great, I definitely would not be planning any major celebrations with this guy. And I kinda liked him. But I always knew to maintain a slight distance, and even casually dated around.
But recently, something happened. I started to notice that he'd call me and share things with me. Things he needed and ways he preferred I communicate with him. And it kinda baffled me. I mean, I didn't get it. He'd also call me during his down times at work, just to chat and check in. He's fine as fuck, highly intelligent, funny as all get out, extremely talented. He could have any woman he wanted. I've literally watched women eye hump him. Yet he's calling lil' old me to talk about communication styles and calling out things I said that he took slight offense to. And then it hit me.
You dumb bitch, this man *likes* you!! He's communicating his needs with you and he's hoping you'll hear him so that you can better understand one another!!
And I'll be honest and share that I had to mull that one over. Like was this one of those things that I overthought about and then created a scenario in my head that is the opposite of anything real? I was honestly trying to figure this out. I mean, I've made peace with being single. I don't particularly want or need a man at this point of my life. The ironic part is that I'm pretty sure if I was bugging him for a relationship, I couldn't get him on the phone if my life depended on it. But since I'm genuinely not phased either way, here we are!
I've long-since figured that a big part of what drew he and I together was that we knew one another in childhood. We saw one another when we were just really starting to figure ourselves out. While another woman may meet him now and swoon all over him, between us going to school together, and my mental health background, I get him. I can connect the dots and understand what makes him tick. I realized some time ago that knowing or seeing someone in childhood is almost equal to seeing them naked. You're seeing them before life did what it does. It almost reminds me of a woman I went to middle school with.
As an adult, she was working as a prostitute and shot a man in his big rig truck. And when I heard her unique name on the news, all I could think back on was how she was so sweet and kind when we were kids. And although I'd long-since lost touch with the woman, and I'm sure she'd barely remember me, in spite of her crime, I knew and I saw the real her. Just like I know and see the real FAMM.
He called me this evening and again mentioned something I'd said that struck a nerve. And strangely, since I don't feel particularly connected to him, I felt like I should just ask during our conversation. "So what direction do you see us going in?" and "So do you want to do the monogamous thing?" He answered that he'll have to think on it and let me know.
I dunno, I feel like old me would want some kind of answer immediately. I mean, we've been seeing one another casually for a year and a half now. But the other part of me kinda doesn't care. Is that weird? I like him, and I enjoy him. And I feel safe with him. For instance, I'd mentioned feeling like a neighbor came into my home, and he immediately said to me "babygirl, we gotta get you a gun!" And I'm not big on guns. But I'm big on a man that values my safety.
I was even surprised to learn tonight that he felt some kind of way about me mentioning a sexual encounter with another guy about a year ago. I confessed to him that in all of my dating encounters, I learned that if someone does not confirm monogamy, then it's best not to assume it exist. And I'm down for it, if that's what he wants. But I'm not pining for it either. It seems like the more I don't feel vested in any kind of future with him, the more he leans into communicating with me and making plans for the future. All of this, all because I saw him "naked" in middle school.
I'm still in my lil' cocoon lately, and I'm frustrated because so many people around me have needed support that I can't really just hide the way I'd ultimately like to. I should likely develop stronger boundaries, and there are definitely some people and times where I strongly hold a stop sign and tell them that I'll get to them when I get to them. But I just wanna hide quietly, is that too much to ask? But I feel like I'll always extend myself in ways that I wish I sometimes wouldn't, all because I know what it's like to need a strong ear. And I was blessed to have many of them in my life. A lot of people aren't so lucky tho.
I look back and cringe at many decisions I made in life. I don't want to blame anyone or anything, but thinking about it now, pretty sure that my childhood had a lot to do with it. I never felt secure and I sought it out where ever I could, as I got older. If someone felt safe and familiar, I clung to them for dear life. What I have going for me and my former neediness is that at least I was always willing to give what I asked. But looking back I can still own that I was probably a lot to handle.
It's ironic what ultimately became my wakeup call. When I left my old job during the pandemic, and it was time to get it cracking again, I applied for a job at a rehab for women. I'd considered that position my dream job. I was able to work with women who were addicted to drugs and alcohol, with the ultimate goal being to reunite many of those women with their children, who were mostly taken by DFCS. What could be better than that, right?
Well, long story short, that job became one of the most toxic environments that I have ever existed in. But I gotta acknowledge, working in substance abuse ended up being one of the best things to ever happen to me. Because while we forced our clients to own their shit, I caught some of the blowback and was forced to own my shit as well. I realized that while I never had a big issue with drugs or alcohol, I realized that I had far deeper codependency than I'd realized. I also learned that I had a bit of an unhealthy attachment to men. And I still kinda do.
Another thing that kind of helped around the time was that I'd really started to work on my books, which made me look deep into myself on my own spirituality. I'd started an Instagram page that focused on mindfulness and as I posted things more often, plus using mindfulness to help women in the program, it made me that much more cautious of being an effective practitioner. And how can I be a practitioner, if I don't understand and live what it was that I was promoting? It started to really hit me. I had some stuff to work on, and nobody could fix this mess but me.
I'm genuinely horrified to know that I was at some point that friend. Sitting on the phone for hours on end as I mulled over what this person said versus what they meant. The conversations over the years about the bullshit David and my son's father doled out, plus other idiots. I'm so embarrassed of the woman I used to be, while being so proud of the woman that I currently am. I wish like hell that I could go back and explain to my old self that people have their own problems and don't wanna always be an ear for your bad decisions. I've already apologized to some friends and thanked others for being there for me when I was so difficult to love and I'll likely spend the rest of my life atoning and cringing for actions during that time.
Why did I have to be nearly 40-years-old before I finally saw that other people had their own shit to deal with and that I needed to be an adult and pull up my big girl panties and figure it out on my own? I dunno. But as much as I detest my former boss, I'm grateful for what I was able to take from that experience. You absolutely could not pay me enough to go back to that job. My peace of mind comes first (you know it's time to go when you're crying in your car on the way home).
I'm grateful though. I'm grateful, because I know how far I've come to be the woman who I am. Warts and all. These battle scars are real, but they show what a warrior I am. Because I had to defeat the biggest monster of them all.
I'm really unsure of what's happened for the last month or so, but I've really just been quietly in my little bubble. And while I'm quietly enjoying life over here, I'm significantly enjoying watching Kendrick Lamar absolutely destroy Drake. I've been a Kendrick fan since To Pimp a Butterfly dropped and I immediately went back and copped Good Kid MADD City. Since then, I've grabbed and absolutely adore everything he breathes on. It also doesn't hurt that Ali was a massive representative for California and the Bay area, so watching Kendrick blow up like this, while repping Cali just makes me know that my beautiful cousin is up there smiling down on us.
I've watched the Not Like Us video a crazy amount of times. I love that the people in the video are real. That's what sets Kendrick apart. He's a real human being. Not airbrushed. I mean, at some point in life, you have to accept yourself, warts and all. It's really refreshing that Kendrick shows that real adults can adult, and still have a lot to offer and bring to the table. I mean, as I lean into my mid-40s, it feels kinda nice to be a part of the hip hop discussion.
I'm trying so hard to include more on my book that I thought I'd finished. I started reading about word counts for books, and mine was at 30k, but I decided that it needed and deserved more. I can't wait for it to get a little cooler, nothing feels better than camping in a coffeehouse on a cool day, as the leaves blow in the background. I was aiming for 40k, but at the rate things are going, if I get a solid 36k-37k, I'll consider it a win. A friend asked me for a copy of my book and I'm kinda nervous about providing it to him, more so because it isn't perfect and has not been edited. But I'd love to get his opinion, so I might just give it to him after all. Hopefully he'll like it.
I suppose I should also include a small secret that I've kept from this blog for the last year. I swore that I'd be going sex-free for a while. A little over a year ago, I saw a man who was quite possibly one of the most stunning creatures I'd ever laid eyes on. It was the first official crush I'd had in eons. He worked at my apartment complex and I'd be reduced to an awkward school girl whenever I'd wave at him like an idiot in passing. Long story short, he ended up being a guy I went to middle and high school with.
And unknown to me at the time, many women in my complex also had eyes for him. I know that my affiliation to him dating back to childhood was a large part of what connected he and I. He has some shit to work on. I'll just keep it at that. It's wild to me that this man has no idea how much he oozes sex appeal. At one point, he and I were at a bar, and he walked up to the bartender to grab refills. He came back to his seat and immediately told me how the female bartender had hit on him.
I didn't say anything. I mean what could I say? He wasn't my mine. But if I'm with this man, at a bar, at 2am, there's a slight chance that he and I are connected in some way, ya know? Still though, I can't even be mad. If I was the throwing panties type of woman, he'd certainly bring out that kind of attention. And while we kept things on the low as we were seeing one another while I lived at his job, he'd report to me how some women in the complex were spreading rumors about who he was supposedly smashing. It's ironic, because he's genuinely a low-key person, and he doesn't like mess or drama and he's truly oblivious to attention from women. So all of the women lusting after him and spreading rumors are doing the exact opposite of what it would take to get next to him. I'm just glad that my name never came up on the gossip report. Cuz me and dude were being downright DISRESPECKFUL at times lol.
Now like I said, dude (whom I nicknamed Fine Ass Maintenance Man or FAMM) has some shit to work through. I've had to step away for a few reasons, no other women or anything like that. I told myself no more half-assed situationships, but here we are, yet again. Whenever I think about men I'd like to marry, FAMM ain't at the top of the list. Although I did ask myself a few months back if I had a choice to marry FAMM or Fred, I'd marry FAMM, hands down. Because while he certainly has some mental stuff to work through, he's never been as intentionally malicious as Fred.
Still though, although he ain't "the marrying kind" he's a nice substitute for a woman who's really not ready to deeply delve into the dating scene and kiss a bunch of frogs. As familiar with my dating life, I can't help but to feel that it's our shared trauma that keeps us in one another's spaces. I won't really talk much about his, but I didn't get the guy much when I was a kid. I was considered weird and fat. So I'm almost ashamed to say that I still get butterflies when the guy who I'd been liking all along, likes me back, especially when it's someone as easy on the eyes as FAMM. I also love that he's extremely funny and handy. If I can ever afford a house far into the future, I know that I can call on him for support. Something about a man that knows how to "swing a hammer," ya dig?
(I started this blog before my actual birthday, but never got to post it. So here's both of them.)
My birthday is in 2 days. I'm excited. I'm ready. The big 44. This time last year, I was in California, heading to Alaska, to enjoy my day. This year, I'm resting at home, getting ready for my uncle's funeral. It is what it is. He was unhappy and grieving his wife for a long time.
I'm glad that I have a therapy appointment on my birthday, it seems very fitting. I tend to get contemplative around that day, so discussing things with a professional only seems right. Things are still pretty good. I visited Alaska, not once but TWICE this year. I'm growing comfortably in my job, and hoping that at some point I'll be paid more than someone flipping burgers. I've been thinking about making a few changes in my life, however.
First is that I'm unsure about my plans to move to Los Angeles long-term, the way I first intended. I'd still like to stay there for a while, but not as long as I'd anticipated. One of the things that I'd forgotten is how antisocial L.A. Okay, it's not really antisocial, it's just that the social interactions are all surface. You can meet someone and have an amazing conversation, and they'll go on about their business and not even attempt to stay in touch. So you'll meet someone you gel with, and they'll have little-to-no interest in maintaining a friendship afterwards. For me, a true social butterfly, I thrive on genuine connections. I'm not sure how I'd do long-term in a place that doesn't value that the same way that I do. But there are other parts of Cali and other places that I'm exploring.
Another thing is that I'm going to scale back on dating for a while. I continue to go back to how when left to my own devices, my life is amazing. But every time I allow anything with a penis to get near me, my goals get sidetracked and I get wrapped up in their shit. EVERY. FUCKING. TIME.
My plan is pretty much to hang out with my "date" for my birthday, and then go cold turkey on sex. The fact is, whether I said it out loud or not, the whole roster has been scrapped. I'm just so sick of it. I honestly feel like men treat me like some sort of NPC (non-player character). I'm tired of being treated like a background character in other people's stories. I'm the support, the cheerleader, the sex chick, the friend, the confidant and therapist. But the second they get bored or whatevs, I'm treated like I never mattered. And it isn't always just about sex.
I'm starting to acknowledge that I've held onto some very unhealthy habits, along with some unhealthy people. I just wanna do-over. And my birthday seems like the perfect time and place for it. Get back into the gym, start focusing on my health again. Get back to writing and reading. Just start focusing on my goals again. My son graduates high school in 2 years, and I'm currently focusing on preparing him for the next leg of life. With that leg will possibly come my move, cross country.
This time last year, around this time, although I did not anticipate it, I'd started roughly a 5 month sexless stint. And that stint was pretty good for me. And I'd like to get back to that again. Time to start getting on my budgeting and long and short-term plans. Men are a distraction and I'm sick of holding them up, while all they do is hold me back. Two years to hunker down and stay focused on what I want and need.
Let's get it!
---
My birthday was pretty tame. I took an earlier trip to Cali, to catch a meteor shower, that ended up being pretty underwhelming. It wasn't long, only a couple of days, and it happened before my birthday. I visited Yosemite again, spent some time with some homies, saw a play and flew on back.
By the time my big day hit, I'd already scheduled to be with my therapist that day at 2pm. I basically shared with her some things I'd been processing. I told her that I was ready to move forward and let it go, but she'd told me that the things that I was processing would take a bit more to work out. Ugh, I hate it when she's right. I'll probably never go to a therapist on my birthday again. As much as I adore Dr. T, I hated going to so deep on my birthday. There were definitely some things that I needed to report to her and process, but I try to keep my birthday light and unpacking things on that day just kinda set the tone for me must kinda going internal.
I didn't even have sex on my birthday. Once again, I was disappointed. But then, I wasn't. It was like a sign that I'm starting this chapter of my life only doing for me. That an my brightly pedicured toes, coupled with breakfast with one friend and dinner with my son were an amazing way to spend some time. I was blessed and honored that so many people wanted to spend my special day with me.
I was surprised when some people from my past attempted to pop back up, on some "can't we all just get along?" mess. Nah, I'm good. You stay way the fuck over there, and let me be great and bask in my own amazingness over here.
I ended up spending the weekend in Virginia, with my family, to say goodbye to my Uncle Jack. Jack was my mom's last living relative, outside of us kids. And she's got one cousin left, and he's in pretty bad shape. That's it. I asked her how that feels. she said "it sucks" and I can only imagine.
It's put in me in my head about some things. I mean, my uncle was just the latest in so many losses I've experienced since young adulthood. Most people only know the loss of one or two people. I guess I'm "fortunate" enough to have lost way more. And it does, in some ways, get a bit easier. And in other ways, it still hurts, and it's still unfair, and all you can do is try to make sense of it. At least both of my parents are still around. I can say though, working in hospice gives you a different view of death and dying, so at least I have that to have shielded and protect me.
I'm kinda enjoying that I'm currently going incognito lately. I like it. I am freeing myself from social obligations and just spending my time focusing and writing. I wish it was colder though. It's so much easier to go internal when the weather is cold. You can just kinda cocoon with a nice mug of coffee and hide from the world.
Overall, 44 seems to be pretty nice. I look and feel amazing. I was at the doctor yesterday, and they casually remarked how good my blood pressure is. Now I have to get back into having the diet of an adult and get this blood sugar lower. Thankful that it isn't off the charts either though. I have a few things in the pipeline and I'm mentally, physically, emotionally, and financially planning and readying myself for life as an empty nester. I'm so excited for this chapter. I have my peace.
I'm really excited about a few things I have planned. It's like all of those years of struggling are finally coming together to make sense. If you take a look at my life, divine timing is definitely real. When I speak to people at work and in my personal life, I have no issue holding up myself as an example of what can happen when you hold your head and work through those challenges.
My modus operandi is to always have several backup plans and always expect the unexpected. Those two things have helped me land on my feet time and time again, because I'm not often caught off guard. I've had people accuse that mindset of me being "negative" but the fact is (knock on wood) my bills are paid on time, even when circumstances are shaky.
I talked a while back about my therapist labeling me a track star and how I had to sit in that for a while, trying to figure out my life. I did more processing than a little around the label of being a runner. I wanted to asses it inside and out. Is it really me? And if so, what can I do about it?
I even checked in with some of my good friends, to get their opinions on it. At one point, I reached out to my homeboy Tony. Tony is kind of cute and we've always had a flirtatious relationship. I called him the other night, again wracking my brain with news of my new label. Tony plainly said to me "if you don't think you're a runner, what's the issue?"
I explained to him that therapy is about me learning myself. I mean, ignoring my flaws doesn't make them go way. Tony said that if I don't agree with the term, then it simply doesn't apply. I said to him that even though I may not like what someone says, that doesn't make it untrue. And that we become better versions of ourselves by being honest with ourselves and assessing honest criticism.
I could almost feel Tony checking out. That's when I told him that we should at least hear what people with good intentions have to say about us. I mean, naturally I don't listen to every critical word that some idiot says about me. But if someone who cares, or better yet, the psychologist that I pay out of pocket, gives an honest assessment of my character, it bears being examined.
But something about the way he just kinda, I dunno, checked out at the thought of examining honest criticism. I wasn't just turned off, I was honestly a bit disgusted. Like how can you, as a grown ass man in your 40s, be so opposed to acknowledging anything wrong with yourself? To the point where you check out when someone is processing their own criticism?
When I recognized that Tony's response was just to bury his head, I was so... UGH. I mean, I was legitimately a repulsed. And I used to think that Tony was so cute. But when that happened, I looked at my life and I looked at Tony's life. I met him when I was in undergrad at Kennesaw in my 20s. Since then I've finished undergrad, did some living, and went to grad school. Meanwhile, I've worked in mental health for 15 years. I have a career. I've had several relationships, some obviously better than others. My resume gets me pretty much any job I have my eyes on. I have a job with a well-respected organization. I have a pension. I have a short-term plan and a long-term plan. And Tony has evolved by... well, by not much.
All because of his refusal to accept and access honest feedback and become a better version of himself. I don't understand how someone's ego can be so fragile that they'd rather stay complacent in life than to grow and build.
I guess that's why I'm flourishing, and he's, well, not.
I had a bit of an epiphany about Fred the other day. After nearly 2 decades of back and forth with him, I'd feel some kind of way if I met a man I was interested in and he had a similar relationship with another woman. I mean, how does someone new to the fold compare to that? It made me look kinda hard at my own dating situations, ya know?
This afternoon, I met with my therapist. Dr. T is amazing. Early in our meeting, somehow we began talking about my father and I began listing off the many reasons I've chosen to cut him out of my life. I saw Dr. T literally double take as I told story after story about the many things he has done to betray my trust. Doc even went far enough to call him a sadist, which I can definitely agree with.
During our meeting, I told Dr. T that I wanted to change course slightly and talk about something else. She gladly accepted. I then told her about my revelation- that my history with Fred would be difficult for an outsider. My dear doctor listened intently as I'd shared how I felt that our literal cross-country love affair is deeper than I may have realized. I mean, I can be honest and share that there are men who I've prioritized over Fred and if the right man came into my life, I'd have no problem doing so again.
When Dr. T asked why we've never been a couple, I admitted that our differences are pretty big and some of the things I think he'd want, I don't fit into. I mean, I'm open to it, I guess. But I'm not running into that fire either. I also shared that if I met that man for the first time tomorrrow, even though I'd be physically attracted to him, I highly doubt we'd get much past a hello. We're just so different now, I don't think we'd gel as new friends.
But maybe there's really more to us than I've accepted. Dr. T wondered why I'd been so deep in my feelings over this. That's when I shared the world's worst-kept secret with her- I'm terrified of commitment. I've done it before. Most of my boyfriends, I never cheated on, not even with Fred. Except for one, my son's father and I deserved every orgasm that Fred gave me during that time. Even though some of the others definitely deserved to be cheated on, and I had many opportunities to do so. Still, the thought of being in a relationship scares the bejeezus of me.
Dr. T wondered why Fred and I never got together. I confessed to her that I'm not sure that we'd even make a good couple. I openly asked her why we can't be like an Oprah and Stedman, ya know? Why define things? Dr. T then reminded me that Oprah and Stedman at least live together. Oof.
That's when she hit me with it. Dr. T looked up and proclaimed to me "you're a runner."
Me? Huh?! A runner?! That's when I was reminded of my past coworker. I shared with her my absolute terror of the idea of entering a previous relationship. My coworker looked at me and said "Malika, you are a runner." What?! Me?! How?! Who?! My coworker then said "bitch, you are a track star!" One of my favorite things about working in mental health is that you're surrounded by therapists who are happy to give you insight on things you previously overlooked.
So Dr. T is literally the 3rd person to have called me a runner. I have no clue why this is hitting so hard. I sat tensely in her office, fidgeting and trying to sit in these feelings. I admitted that the idea of calling myself a runner kinda stung. Dr. T then asked me what I'm running from. I fidgeted even harder. I'm traditionally pretty okay with my shit. All of my emotions. But sitting in her office, in that chair, ironically made me want to bolt out of there.
It was the end of our session, so we had no chance to go down the rabbit hole of why. I normally hate when our sessions end, but I was definitely okay with it today. Perhaps I am a runner. I dunno. Me though? The woman who embraces emotions and wants to talk and hug everything out? Am I really running from something? I don't know.
